Friday Bench: Reddish Vale Country Park

I discovered this little moss-covered bench in an obscure part of the Reddish Vale Country Park on the outskirts of Stockport, Cheshire.

There is nothing much to view therefrom but the bench provides a welcome respite along an overgrown footpath. I didn't sit on it but did use it to help me retie the laces on my boots.

My favourite benches from last week include Barbara's in Newfoundland, Rune's in Bergen, the Sylvan Muse's in Durham, Carlos's in Barcelona, a bus bench in Hollywood and PERB's neglected bench.

35 Years Married: A Reflection

My mother gave us six months, and my mother-in-law probably less, but 35 years on we are still together.

Anyhow, there'll be no big celebrations; as always we'll just get on with day to day living.

This is a photograph of myself reflected in my wife's sunglasses.

Christine is looking down the Market Place past the entrance to the shopping mall, as you can see more clearly on Hyde Daily Photo.

Friday Bench: More from Vernon Park

Like last week's Friday bench today's benches are again from Vernon Park in Stockport. These are alongside the bowling green.

My photoblog this week has featured other parts of the park including the trees overlooking New Zealand Road and the bandstand.

My favourite benches from last week include Barbara's in Niagra, Mediterranean Kiwi's in Hania, Rune's in Tjorehagen, the Sylvan Muse's in Durham and a stone bench in Waterford.

A few weeks ago I showed you the first rainbow we'd seen from our new apartment. You can now see our second rainbow on Hyde DP Xtra.

Friday Bench: Return to Vernon Park

I first visited Stockport's Vernon Park in January when it was cold and icy.

I went back on a hot day in June and here is that same bench although viewed from a different angle.

Last weeks Friday Bench inspired Leatherdyke to post an undedicated bench.

Other favourites from last week include Rune's in Tjorehagen, Barbara's in Troy and Sylvan Muses' at Moorbank Botanic Garden.

solstice

solstice

a renga between

dorothy howard sheila windsor gerald england

composed january 2005

yesterday's sunset sky and this morning's equally diaphanous
white pine peering hard to see the start of you end of me
back on track intense cold the cactus bloom whiles away
the morning lost in thought and tea steam
a little stew left for lunch a man at the door and wind
gutter down still the repairers haven't come back


santa back in the box with stars
epiphany for a fortuitous advertisement
heavy rain the council clean street lamps
sycamore crows in such a swish & sway i doff my hat
lacesknottedonto snow glitter
squirrel scurries along the fence

out of order machine on SAQ strike
sunrise over the hill in matching aran sweaters
saturday gale only the florist on the market
berg-a-maid in a side note
fortune cookie i catch him peeping
her pet ferrett out on a leash

bottom road an ambulance piercing sirens
swollen tongue stud bloodied gold
hands & breasts : someone's plea for help
waving from the waves
in silence even this deep a pine sheds needles still
ice & slush to be cleared

blackbinbag flapping round the rosebush tears away
fast clouds ophelia here and gone
beet textured sigh the new year media release
imported strawberries at a price
week by week in tesco's the organic section grows
dust on the pane sunshine bright

motorway exit roundabout blocked a shed load
Methodist coffee morning hot toast
yellowed icing stuck to their feet the bride and groom
the childrens' clown waiting at the bus stop
gibbous moon all the way home we speak of raphael
press any key to continue the fire burns on

The Sons of Camus Writers International Journal #6

Laboratooriumi --
grass in cracks under wooden doors
so quiet

Russia's Venice
from this one bridge
eight to be seen

fish market
next to the herring stall
second-hand books

These are just three of my contributions to the latest issue of this journal for writers over 55. You'll find in it nine "charcoals" based on photographs of Tallinn, Saint Petersburg and Helsinki.

John Light contributes a story which he says is extracted from a novel under construction. It is an enthralling piece and I enjoyed

I distrust experts. They see everything with a trained eye and the trained eye sees only what it has been trained to see ...

Raymond Humphreys has an essay on Poetry in Translation whilst Herbert Williams asks Who are the British?.

There is more artwork with a series of collages by Alan Perry as well as short stories, reviews and poetry to be found in the journal's 200 pages.

Editor, Ann J Davidson, is currently considering submissions for the next issue by email at scwijournal@gmail.com

Read the review of issue #5

Read reviews of issues ##1-4 on NHI Review

The Sons of Camus Writers International Journal
Rubini Publications
Gropious St #30
Limassol 3706
Cyprus
ISSN 1705-429X
CY£5 [€9; UK£6; US$10; CAN$15 including shipping]

Friday Bench: Sandy Lane

Benches are a common ingredient to a number of different photoblogs. Rune E of Visual Norway last week suggested others might post benches regularly on Fridays.

As a sedate antidote to the Friday sky meme which starts Thursdays and disappears by Tuesday, it seems a great idea if done informally without the need for a specific controlling meme.

This week's bench is one I discovered yesterday halfway along Sandy Lane which climbs out of Romiley towards the hamlet of Greave on the edge of Stockport, Cheshire.

I was walking downhill so didn't need to avail myself of it. The elderly gentleman walking up who looked as if he'd be glad of it said "Afternoon, I'm not stopping or I'll not get started again".

I crossed the road and photographed it.

Cow Heel and Tripe

Today's post is a complementary to the one on Hyde Daily Photo where you'll find a close-up of the cow heels seen here.

It was taken recently at the tripe stall belonging to Jack Curvis.

Jack, now in his 70s has been running the stall on Hyde's indoor market for nearly 20 years.

His customers from all over - Buxton, Macclesfield - and even from France. There are very few tripe places left now but the ones that are left, people travel to.